


someone saved my life tonight

by larnbean



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-26
Updated: 2016-06-26
Packaged: 2018-07-18 10:00:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7310473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/larnbean/pseuds/larnbean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jimmy has a handle on it. He’s handling it. He’s fine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	someone saved my life tonight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [armillarysphere](https://archiveofourown.org/users/armillarysphere/gifts).



> Enjoy! 
> 
> Thank you to M and E. You know who you are. 
> 
> Happy birthday, America.

Jimmy gets ejected from the game against the Caps in the second period for fighting. The game is at home and the fight is stupid, but Wilson had taunted him into it. Wilson’d been ejected too. To be fair, Jimmy couldn’t place all the blame there, Wilson had been pushing Frank around all first period, casting looks back to Jimmy like he’d expected him to do something about it. Of course Jimmy was going to do something about it. It’s Frank. 

When Jimmy had the chance to go with Wilson, he took it, especially when Wilson had whispered, “you fight all your boy’s battles?” Like Frank couldn’t stand up for himself. That wasn’t it. Frank is perfectly capable of standing up for himself, but he doesn’t have to because he has Jimmy there to do it. And Jimmy wants to do it. He doesn’t want Frank to go with a goon like Wilson. He wants Frank to save his hands, would hate to see them all bruised up -- a waste is what that is. Frank is going places with those hands, and Jimmy is big and tall and perfectly willing to take anyone on who goes after Frank. 

Jimmy’s eye is sore from where Wilson clocked him good. It’s Wilson’s job to instigate, to follow-through on threats to fight. He’s good at that, and Jimmy can’t fault him for that, but Jimmy can fault him for going after Frank. Jimmy doesn’t like seeing Frank get pushed around. Frank’s his teammate, his buddy -- Jimmy bites his lip, feeling suddenly too big in his own skin, like he’s going to vibrate right out of it. 

It’s not like Wilson purposefully went after Frank to get to Jimmy. Wilson’s whatever - he’s fine, for a Canadian. It’s just that whenever Frank is involved it sets something off in Jimmy, something he’s tried to tamp down for a long while, ever since he met Frank. 

He’s successful most days, in the rink at practice when he catches Frank laughing at something stupid Marchy says, smiling that full grin, all teeth, that makes Jimmy smile back every time; at a bar celebrating a win, Frank’s eyes glassy from too many beers, listing into Jimmy’s side; sitting in Frank’s apartment, playing Call of Duty, Frank’s thigh brushing against Jimmy’s whenever someone ambushes them. And even though each look, and accidental touch, lights up Jimmy’s insides, he pushes it down further, knows that there’s nothing to come of it. 

Jimmy has a handle on it. He’s handling it. He’s fine. Except on the ice, when guys like Wilson, or whoever, go after Frank. That’s when Jimmy can’t handle it. That’s when this stupid feeling of longing threatens to swallow Jimmy whole. It’s only on the ice that Jimmy can give in to every impulse. Jimmy doesn’t have it in him to hold back, especially when it comes to Frank. But then he ends up doing something stupid, like getting ejected from the game for unsportsmanlike conduct. 

That’s how Jimmy finds himself sitting alone in the locker room, waiting for the second period to end. He strips off his gear methodically, careful when he gets down to pulling his sweat soaked undershirt over his head. The skin around his eye has already started throbbing. He stinks like something awful. The timer on the wall says there are two minutes left in the second. Jimmy pulls himself up, and heads to the showers. He stays there a while, steam surrounding him, the water soothing the ache under his eye. He stays there in the shower until he’s sure intermission has ended. He doesn’t want to have to see the guys right now. He doesn’t want to have to see Frank, especially. With his soft eyes, and his sweet mouth, and the way he fits so perfectly right under Jimmy’s arm. 

Jimmy sighs and goes to wait out the third period in the locker room. He tries his best to avoid thinking about Frank, but it only works so well. His brain keeps coming back to what Frank thinks of all this, by stepping in and squaring off with Wilson. Does Frank think it’s stupid? Is he offended that Jimmy stepped in -- that he took care of Wilson for Frank? Jimmy knows Frank’s more than capable of standing up for himself. But does Frank know that Jimmy knows that? Jimmy shakes his head. His resistance is so low when it comes to Frank. 

The team pulls off a win, without him, Jimmy thinks dejectedly. But it’s a win for the team, and Jimmy can’t feel all that upset about it. He only wishes he’d been out there to see it with the guys. Jimmy waits for the team to come back into the room, already dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt. The skin around his eye feels tender and sore. Jimmy’s ready to get out of here. 

Some of the guys hoot and holler at him, knocking into Jimmy's shoulder with their fists, too rough for the way Jimmy’s feeling at the moment. He feels worn thin, delicate, on the verge of falling apart if someone knocks into him one more time.

Frank though, Frank watches him from across the room with a softness that makes Jimmy's chest hurt. Every ache, every emotion, every feeling is probably written across his face and Jimmy has to look away.

That doesn't stop Frank from coming over, and tapping his shoe lightly against Jimmy’s. Frank’s never rough with Jimmy, doesn’t overestimate his size, doesn’t knock into his shoulder like the rest of the guys do -- he’s almost gentle. Jimmy’s breath catches at the thought. 

“Guys are headed out tonight,” Frank says. “But I'm not really feeling up for it. Wanna come over?” He sounds careful when he asks. He doesn't say anything about the game, or the fight, he just watches Jimmy. Frank knows Jimmy got a ride here anyway, that he’ll need a ride back to his place eventually. 

Jimmy finds himself nodding. He can't turn Frank down -- he won't, he's too selfish, too eager to spend time with him, even if everything is so close to the surface right now, even if Jimmy feels like it all might explode in his face. Like he might give himself away. 

Frank tilts his head toward the door. “Let's go,” he says, and Jimmy follows him out. Frank fiddles with the radio on the ride back to his place, one hand on the wheel, eyes on the road, as he messes with the dial. Jimmy watches Frank from across the gearshift, looking away whenever they stop or slowdown. 

Frank’s place is neat and tidy, and it smells like clean laundry as they settle themselves on the couch. Frank leaves the lights low, letting the glow of the city cast shadows on the wall through the window. 

“You need anything?” Frank asks, his voice low. 

Jimmy shakes his head. He’s not really sure why he accepted Frank’s invitation back to his place. Jimmy’s never been all that smart when it comes to Frank. 

Frank pulls one leg up under him, perched on the cushion, eyes on Jimmy's face. Frank’s changed into a t-shirt that looks soft to the touch. It’s tight, clinging to Frank’s shoulders, and around Frank’s biceps. Jimmy can see the curl of Frank’s tattoo right at the edge of his sleeve. Jimmy looks down at his hands in his lap, his mouth gone dry. There’s a scratch on his knuckle from where he got Wilson up high. 

The air between them is charged with things unsaid.

Jimmy can feel Frank’s eyes on him looking him over. Jimmy keeps his own eyes trained on his hands in his lap. Frank’s hand comes forward, deliberate, slow. Jimmy feels Frank’s fingertips tracing along the side of his face, right under where the bruise will come in. 

“He got you good,” Frank murmurs, voice tight, concerned. 

Jimmy's eyes fall closed as Frank continues to touch, soft, and sweet and too much for Jimmy to take, but he won't pull away. He’ll take what he can get even if it's out of pity. Something unfurls inside Jimmy’s stomach, and he wants Frank’s hands on him like this all the time, caring and gentle. 

There's a feather soft pressure at the corner of Jimmy's eye, soft like flower petals, and Jimmy's eyes flutter open as Frank trails his lips down to the corner of Jimmy's mouth. Frank’s pulling away, his eyes wide, mouth open, breaths coming fast. Jimmy doesn’t move -- he’s unable to move, stunned by the gentle pressure of Frank’s kisses. 

“I'll get you some ice,” Frank says, making to get up, and only then does Jimmy move, his hand darting out to catch Frank wrist. 

Jimmy doesn't want Frank to go now, not with the memory of Frank’s mouth on his skin. It’s like the pain in Jimmy’s face and hands has stopped throbbing for a moment, his body is lit up, nerves firing back and forth because of Frank, because Frank kissed him. 

Jimmy swallows and looks at Frank, really looks in a way that he'd never allowed himself to, and it's all there. It’s the same thing that Jimmy’s been trying to hide this whole time, completely open, reflected in Frank’s eyes. There’s apprehension there, too, though, and Jimmy knows that feeling. He doesn’t want Frank to think that he doesn’t want this. He knows what kind of pain that causes. 

Jimmy takes a deep breath. Frank was the one who took the plunge. It's easy for Jimmy to follow after him, to tuck his hand around the back of Frank’s neck, toying with the soft hair at his nape, to drag Frank forward so that he can bring their mouths together in an open mouth kiss, their tongues tapping, intertwining for a moment before Frank pulls away. 

He wears a guilty grin and Jimmy can’t help but smile back. 

“Guess it took me getting punched in the face over you for me to finally do that,” Jimmy admits, Frank laughs, smile bright, and Jimmy pulls Frank back in to kiss him, open-mouthed, and wet. Jimmy feels something loosen in his chest. , 

Frank’s mouth is shiny-slick with Jimmy's saliva, and Jimmy can't help but shiver at the thought. He wants to get his hands on Frank’s hips, to drag Frank into his lap, and continue what they started. 

“You staying over?” Frank asks. Jimmy doesn’t really know how he can leave at this point, now that he knows what Frank’s mouth tastes like. “Because we should probably ice your eye before we continue this.” Frank’s hand is resting on Jimmy’s chest. Jimmy rests his own on top of it. 

“I wanna stay,” Jimmy all but whispers, breath stolen away. 

“Good.” Frank leans in to kiss Jimmy’s lower lip with a hint of teeth that makes Jimmy’s toes curl. “Let me get you that ice,” Frank says, all playfulness and smiles, rising up off the couch and disappearing into the kitchen.

He returns with a dishcloth and a bag of frozen peas. He drops it all next to Jimmy's leg and crawls right into Jimmy's lap. Frank settles there, his thighs bracketing Jimmy’s waist. Jimmy rests his hands on Frank's waist, soaking in Frank’s warmth through the thin material of his t-shirt. 

Jimmy watches Frank wrap the bag of frozen peas up. Frank tips Jimmy’s head back, his fingers leave trails of heat along Jimmy’s jaw. He lets his eyes fall closed, anticipating the cold touch, but what comes first is the gentle caress of Frank’s lips on his. 

After Frank’s seen to Jimmy’s bruises and scratches, and after he’s had Jimmy sit with the bag of frozen peas on his face for a while, Frank pulls Jimmy off the couch and takes him to bed. They curl up there, wrapped in each other. 

*

When Jimmy wakes up, it’s alone, to the smell of bacon frying. Jimmy pads out into the kitchen and finds Frank’s standing standing at the stove, shirtless, sleep pants slung long on his hips. He’s He’s warm to touch as Jimmy wraps his arms around Frank’s waist, and kisses his neck. It makes Jimmy want to forgo the idea of breakfast all together and take Frank back to bed. 

They’ll get there eventually. Frank is sleep warm and pliant as Jimmy presses him against the kitchen counter. Frank’s mouth is wet, and soft, and his body feels solid against Jimmy’s. 

They’ll get back into bed at some point. They have time. They don’t have practice today, or anywhere to go at all. For now, Jimmy’s content with pulling Frank to him as their bacon sizzles in the pan. If it gets a little crispy, Jimmy doesn’t mind.

**Author's Note:**

> title from Elton John's "Someone Saved My Life Tonight"


End file.
